Ink Stains on Sunlight Skin
The city outside my window is a blur of steel and haste,
The Courier of Time
Silver Threads in an Iron City
The city hums with a digital restlessness that often feels like noise
The Blue Hour Between Us
I have always lived in the margins of time, collecting moments like
Velvet Nights and the Scent of Old Ink
The taxi hums beneath me like an old record player skipping on
Ink Stains on a Glass Afternoon
I have always felt like an unposted letter, tucked away in the
Sunflowers for the Man Who Forgot Spring
I keep a collection of voicemails from strangers in an old mahogany
A Midnight Epistle Written in Light
I have always felt like an old cassette tape left in a
A Summer Stolen from the Concrete Pulse
I have always felt like an old film reel playing in a
Whispers from the Silver Grass Sea
I found a cassette tape in the attic of my new apartment—
A Sip of Sun-Drenched Silence
I have always felt like an old cassette tape left in the
Whispers in the Emerald Hour
I found your letter tucked inside a first-edition volume of Rilke at
A Symphony Written in Neon Blood
I have walked through centuries like a ghost in my own skin,
